


A Twisted Tale

by hoywfiction



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur is sad, Gwaine really loves Percival, Gwaine/Lancelot if you squint I guess, Gwen is a mom to the knights, M/M, Merlin is executed, Not exactly Merthur and not exactly Perwaine but it's definitely gay, so is everyone else, the knights are a family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:57:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoywfiction/pseuds/hoywfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The young Prince felt the nausea from the previous night return as he was situated behind the executioner's stage, a pyre set with a stake in the centre. He tried his very best not to remember that Merlin would be mounted upon that very stake in moments, a fire ablaze beneath him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Happening

_I shouldn't have let it happen. I was such a fool... such a fool... I should have never have expected him to care for himself, just for once to care for himself. The damned idiot, that stupid idiot... I should have saved him. I_ should _have_ saved _him... And I didn't..._

* * *

The day was warm. The kingdom of Camelot had been strangely at ease for the past two weeks, leaving the knights, the King, and the Prince with a lot of free time. It slipped through their fingers, slowly and painfully, to a point where sleep, which could once have been seen as a nuisance, came welcomely. The knights found themselves spending most of their time in the practice fields, but they'd seemed to have become lazed even when it came to that. Nor were they the only ones; Prince Arthur found it exceedingly hard to focus on the downstroke of his sword when it was all he'd focused on for weeks.

"Sire," came Leon's voice after practice had ended that day. It was the midday of the 16th day of unexpected peace. Arthur was sitting on a bench and loosening his chest plate, wishing Merlin were there to assist him, but knowing that the servant was helping Gaius while there weren't too many sick to worry about and supplies could be gathered.

"Hm?" he grunted, fighting to haul his mail over his shoulders.

"It has come to the attention of Lancelot and I that we can only spar so many times a day." The well-respected knight stood a little taller, looked a little more alert, probably from long nights of rest. Too many nights of it, if you were to ask the crown prince.

"Agreed," said the blonde-haired boy, looking up at him as he put aside the last of his armor, feeling at least ten pounds lighter. "What did you have in mind?"

That was how the Prince, his knights, and his manservant wound up in the Tavern. There were many men there, toasting the past few weeks of prosper. The knights burst into rounds of laughter as Gwaine stood on a chair to toast, only to topple over onto the floor, tankard and all. After assurance that he hadn't harmed himself came in the form of Gwaine's drunken singing, the Prince joined in on the laughter.

Merlin was sat beside him, laughing along, though not taking up more than a minuscule amount of space on the bench. Arthur noticed how tense he looked, how nervous, and he suddenly felt a flush of guilt tint his ears. Merlin had probably never even been to a tavern. Though he was roughly the same age as Arthur, Merlin hadn't grown up on fine wine brought in offering from other kingdoms, been offered glasses of specially made mead since he was a child. Hell, he wasn't sure Merlin had ever had a drink in his life.

Elyan seemed to notice Merlin's discomfort as well, for the boy threw an arm around him and pulled him closer to himself on the bench.

"C'mon, Merlin," the young knight said in a brotherly manner. "You've been working for Gaius all day. A little fun will do you good."

"Yes, have a drink, Merlin," Geraint urged, sliding a tankard across the table to him. Merlin was wide-eyed as he took the cup in his hands, glancing wildly around at the knights, until his gaze rested on Arthur. The Prince smiled, holding his own tankard up and nodding to him, encouraging him. His blue eyes returned back to the liquid in his glass, and tentatively, he took a sip. He made a bitter face- it was quite hilarious, really- but that soon melted away and his expression lit up. Elyan laughed, clapping him gently on the back.

"That a boy!" he laughed as Merlin took eager gulps from the metal cup now, as if he couldn't get enough. Within moments, he had finished it, seeking out another. Arthur presumed he was correct in it being Merlin's first time out drinking when the servant downed his third beverage.

"Slow down, Merlin," Leon chuckled, taking the tankard from the boy. The Prince was laughing with Gwaine and Lancelot, too invested in his own drink to be paying mind to the two.

"But I wan' more," Merlin protested, reaching for the cup. When the knight wouldn't return it to him, he resolved to get it from him forcefully. Leon found himself accidentally yelping as the mead zipped out of his hand, coming to a sloshing stop into the hands of Merlin. Merlin, who had gold eyes. All the knights stared at Arthur's manservant, and Arthur was gaping. He'd suspected it (more like known), and he'd kind of expected him to— He didn't think he'd just—

"Oi! Sorcerer!" The knights exchanged glances; none of _them_ had said it. Before they could get their bearings in this mad situation, the King's guards had seized not only Merlin, but an irate Lancelot, an infuriated Percival, and the Prince, who looked as if he were about to be sick. All the way to the centre of Camelot Lancelot thrashed between two different guards, howling for them to let him go and rambling about how if any harm came to Merlin... Percival gave up fighting about half way to the castle, and the way the honest knight's feet dragged paths in the dust as the guards carried him only added to Arthur's nausea. He couldn't catch a glimpse of Merlin; he wouldn't see him until sunrise the next morning...

 

As soon as the sun was above the horizon, all were gathered in the Square. All, that is, aside from Arthur's knights, who, between the time the Prince had been locked in his quarters and the morning, had somehow gotten themselves locked in the prison cells. He felt it deep down that Gwaine and Percival had been the ones to lead the mayhem, whatever that had been. The young Prince felt the nausea from the previous night return as he was situated behind the executioner's stage, a pyre set with a stake in the centre. He tried his very best not to remember that Merlin would be mounted upon that very stake in moments, a fire ablaze beneath him...

Trumpets sounded, and out on the balcony above appeared Uther, looking more irritated than grim about putting his son's manservant to death. Arthur couldn't look at him... He closed his eyes and ducked his head down to the side, biting together his teeth as he heard the grand doors of the castle open. Chains rattled, the crowd silent aside from the sound of tears out to the far left. _Gaius_ , thought Arthur, though he dare not open his eyes and allow this nightmare to become his reality.

"A sorcerer," bellowed Uthur, his voice reflecting off the buildings and stinging the Prince's ears. "The servant of my son..."

Arthur heard chains being moved, either being changed out for rope or being tied, but he heard nothing from Merlin. The King continued: "Last night he used charms without words, without anything magical," said he. "Is this not true, Arthur?"

Arthur opened his eyes, the sun now harsher than he ever remembered, the silence that greeted him as the citizens awaited his response deafening. He looked up at his father, his chest heaving not with physical pain, but with emotion. He tried his best not to look at the tuft of black hair in the corner of his eye, tied to the wooden pole, but it was of no use. He turned his head to find Merlin there, his arms and torso held in the pyre by rope, chains discarded only a metre or so away. The servant's head fell limp against his chest, and though Arthur could not completely see his face, his skin was much more pale than he'd ever seen it. Tears fell from the tip of his nose, his lip shook, and every so often a small, terrified whimper would break the silence, and the servant would squeeze shut his eyes.

Arthur couldn't say a word; all the moisture in his mouth was gone. He felt stinging at the backs of his eyes, but he held it in. He daren't cry now, not in front of his people, nor his father.

"Arthur?" repeated Uther. "Is this not true?"

When his son would neither look at him nor speak a word, when he would do nothing but stare at the vermin held to the wooden pyre, the King sighed and waved a hand at the guards on standby with torches and oil in hand. They nodded once, then moved to the stacked logs; they'd performed this task many times over, but this time they found themselves hesitating. They knew Merlin, they knew what he did for not only Arthur, but the entire kingdom. They could see the dam about to burst behind the Prince's eyes... and so they hesitated, for as long as they could.

In the short time the guards' procrastination allowed, Arthur got Merlin to look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, a brokenness held in their depths. And yet, somehow... he smiled. The blonde couldn't hold it in anymore, and a few tears forced their way from his eyes as he tried to tear away from the guards that held him back.

"No, please!" The guards with the torch and oil were startled by his outburst; he had been silent up until now. "Please, let Merlin go... Father, please..."

"Arthur, enough." Uther sounded deflated, and though Arthur didn't look at him he could hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. The guards holding the Prince would not let up, and as new tears refreshed in Merlin's eyes and Uther reissued the command to set the sorcerer ablaze, Arthur fell to his knees. He looked up at his friend as the one guard began spreading oil on the pyre; he took in everything about him, every detail. What if this was the last time...?

"Goodbye, Arthur," Merlin said, his voice cracking. Arthur's breath caught, and he didn't have time to say goodbye before the orange flames sprang to life and he cringed away, screwing his eyes shut once more. All the things he wanted to say, everything he needed Merlin to know... he would never hear...

Merlin's cries would embed themselves into his dreams for fortnights to come. It didn't matter how hard he shut together his eyelids, nor how stubbournly he ignored the heat of the fire; this nightmare _was_ his reality... and Merlin was dead...


	2. A Wild Goose Chase

_I should have done something that day. I should have said something more, done something more... I should have acted. Maybe things would be different if I had; perhaps we'd both be okay, or at least we'd be falling apart together..._

* * *

Four days later...

"Have you found him?" called out Lancelot to the other knights as they regrouped. Not a single one had good news of the morning's patrol.

"Not a sign," said Percival sadly, his voice rough and quiet. He hadn't spoken much in the days following Merlin's execution, and the other knights (though they didn't show it) were quite pleased just to hear him speak.

"He must want to remain hidden," Leon commented, his eyes cast down at the reins in his hands. His leather-clad fingers ran over the hide straps, and he would not look up at his brothers. He too had not been himself over the past three days.

"Are there any places we haven't looked yet?" Gwaine asked, eyes sweeping the gathering of men. Only Lancelot held himself at full stature, the others upon their horses with drooped shoulders and a radiating air of grief. For both Lancelot and Gwaine, grief was replaced with worry for Arthur's safety (and sanity).

"We've looked in all the places physically possible for him to travel since last night," said Elyan, forcing himself to look up.

"Perhaps," said Geraint suddenly, all the other knights (aside from Percival) looking to him, "he never left the kingdom."

"Never left?" Leon asked. "Where would he be?"

Geraint looked now to Lancelot. "His horse was still in the stables, right?"

To this, Lancelot nodded gently. "Yes, and so? What of it?"

Gwaine caught on to Geraint's ponderings at this point. "His sword was gone from the armory..."

Never had Prince Arthur's knights felt more dense than now. Though they had all now realised their folly, Geraint had to finish making his point: "Did no one think to check the training yard?"

 

Uther would probably be unhappy to find each and every practice dummy in the training yard diced into pieces, even less so when he learned that his son had been purposely leading the knights on a wild goose chase through and beyond the entire kingdom to find him. The maiden at the market would say she saw Arthur's horse go east for a few coins, the school teacher would say south... He surveyed the field, observing his damage, and with a wistful sigh he buried his head in his updrawn knees. Three days had been years, not a moment within them pleasant, not even tolerable.

For the first day, Arthur had tried his best not to pay mind to what had happened. He was the Prince, what was one servant to him? It was apparent by that afternoon that one servant meant _a lot_ to him; he did not make his appearance to dinner that night. The second day, Arthur had fallen ill (or so he claimed and so Gaius reported). He didn't leave his bed at all until the next morning, and he only ate when Gaius came and threatened to tell his father that he was, in truth, physically well unless he ate something that day. The third day is when the strange peace that had overtaken Camelot for so long ended, and with a sense of excitement Uther took nearly half the army for a small threat between his own kingdom and a neighboring one. Left alone, Arthur and Gwaine ended up passed out drunk together out on Arthur's balcony. This was why Gwaine sounded the alarm, when he couldn't find his friend the next day.

Arthur had expected him to be the one leading his search party, and so was hardly surprised at all when he and Lancelot came riding into view. They hadn't yet seen him, and as they turned back to discuss something with the other knights for a moment, he had the time to gather himself.

"We should cover as much area as we can," Lancelot said, and he was about to assign pairs to seek out the Prince (Geraint and himself, Gwaine and Percival, Leon and Elyan) when he caught a glimpse of blonde hair just down the slope. He squinted his eyes against the slight glare reflected off the grass, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Arthur?" Elyan looked out at him with worry, dismounting his horse. The Prince, in return, forced what he could of a smile and used his best acting abilities to make himself seem alright.

"Your tracking skills are becoming dull," he teased, hoping his smirk was convincing enough as the rest of the knights approached, Elyan holding his horse by the reigns.

"This was a training exercise?" asked Leon, seeming a little amused. Some of the others smiled as Arthur dipped his head in response.

"One that you failed, might I add," he said, and a few of the men chuckled. They were thinking that, perhaps, their friend was gaining some of his spirits back.

"What if the kingdom had been attacked?" Geraint laughed as he hopped off his saddle. "We'd have been leaving the castle defenseless chasing you about!"

Arthur laughed with the rest of them; obviously his faking was well enough...

"The town would be in flames!" laughed Lancelot, seemingly relieved. Conversation soon came of the knights, talking between themselves of all the clues they should have followed to correctly perform the Prince's "challenge". He was about to suggest they go on an actual hunting trip in a few days in order to sharpen their skills- though in honesty he could hardly care at all- when Gwaine spoke up.

"What happened to the dolls?" No one paid mind to him but Arthur, who kept on smiling. Was he referring to the sparring dummies?

"Dolls?" he asked, laughing a small bit, but when he turned to look at the knight there wasn't a tinge of amusement on his face. He looked completely passive, and for a moment the Prince's act almost faltered. Before he could speak, Gwaine turned to his brothers in arms and threw on a grin, one about as fake as his friend's.

"Now that we've found him, can we eat?" he suggested with a twinkle in his eyes. The other men voiced their agreement, and moments later they were turning to leave for the kitchens in the castle. When their acquired target tried to follow, however, he was stopped.

"Gwaine?" questioned the Prince. His friend looked at him with a dull expression, arm barring his path to follow his quickly disappearing knights.

"I'm not buying this," he said. "What were you really doing out here?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. He wanted to say he hadn't been doing a thing, that he had already told him his intentions, but from the way Gwaine was looking at him he knew that there wasn't a point to pretending. "I had to be away for just a while..."

"So why didn't you say that?" the knight asked, watching with curious eyes as Arthur scooped up his sword from where he had previously been sitting in the bushes. "If you had asked to be left alone no one would have come to f-"

"They can't know," the Prince cut in gently. With silence from the second member of the dialogue, he continued. "If the kingdom knew how bad off I am right now-"

"They would understand," Gwaine insisted.

"And my father?" Arthur challenged, turning on his friend and holding a hard gaze. The knight found his words die in his throat; Uther would belittle him, insult him, try to force him not to care. It wasn't that Uther was a bad father, thought Gwaine, but he was a very close-minded man.

"I'm unsure," he decided to say, dipping his head a little. The Prince gave a nod, seeing he had won this argument; he returned towards the castle without so much as another word, Gwaine watching him. He knew what had to be done, if this was how far Arthur had fallen in a matter of days, and he needed to speak to Lancelot. As soon as he possibly could.


	3. Loss Changes Even the Strongest

_I suppose it was bound to end in our separation, but that makes no sense. With our fates as entwined as they are—almost like they're one—how can we be separated?_ Why _are we...?_

* * *

Five weeks later...

"We _can't_. Not yet," Lancelot snapped, his voice low and quiet. The light cast off from the torch he held added to the sense of immediacy in the air, the sense of dire importance. They mustn't be heard, both knights knew; one word caught could lead to the collapse of this entire thing.

"You've been saying that a lot. We can't _wait_ much longer!" Gwaine growled in return, his eyes narrowing slightly at the other man. The darkened corridor was charged with tension, and a draft could only barely be felt, coming from the door to the supply cellar. For a few moments all that could be heard were frustrated, deep inhales and exhales. Shaking his head, Lancelot turned and began leading again, Gwaine at his heels.

"Arthur is stronger than you think," he said, eyes darting about to keep a lookout for any passing souls. Suddenly he was forcefully spun around; he had to hold tightly to the torch to make sure it didn't roll from his grasp.

"Arthur is more _human_ than _you_ think," said Gwaine aggressively, near glaring at his fellow knight. Another pause ensued, until Lancelot let out a sigh and gently moved the other man's hand off his wrist, passing over the light.

"We _can't_ yet. You _know_ we can't." he responded sadly, seeing the desperation in the long-haired man's eyes. As he turned away, leaving his companion standing dumbfounded in the dark, he had but one last thing to say: "I'm more worried about our brothers."

 

No one was on the training field, not today. Arthur, as was usual, found an excuse not to be with the knights. Today it was that he needed to go get a new custom saddle from the outskirts of town. He failed to remember that the castle held a blacksmith of its own who easily could have made said accessory.

Not that his knights cared so much. They always were tired nowadays, black rings fully visible underneath their eyes and their heads bowed. Sleep had been taken from them by crushing worry, and their pride had been stolen away by remaining grief. Actually, the grief wasn't as "left over" as it was growing, becoming more prominent in their minds.

Gwaine felt sharp pain in his chest as he wandered into the armoury that morning after he'd spoken with Lancelot. Suddenly he took his words into his mind and internalised them. The other knights were in concerning mental states: Leon often wandered away from everyone, returning anywhere from minutes to hours later; Elyan had developed the new habit of tapping his fingers and holding his hands together so tight his knuckles were paled; Geraint was suddenly aggressive to anyone besides his brothers in arms (and Arthur); and then there was Percival.

Gwaine watched him sadly from afar as he aimlessly organized the blades, took them down, arranged them again. Often he replaced them in the exact same order that he had just removed them from. About two weeks ago, the man had stopped talking all together. In the beginning he had been quiet, but now he didn't speak a word at all to anyone. Gwaine had tried begging him to speak, to at least to tell him that he was alright, but the one-sided conversation had ended with misted eyes and the bigger of the two fleeing into the corridors of the castle.

"He's doing it again?" Gwaine jumped, startled at the quiet voice and sudden, gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looked over at the person behind him, he immediately relaxed. Gwen watched on as the knight had been doing just moments ago as Percival again started to pointlessly rearrange items. At least he'd moved onto the shields now.

"Yeah," Gwaine sighed, continuing his watching. "He has been for a few hours, even though everyone else left a while ago."

Gwen looked over at her friend woefully as he gazed upon his currently mute brother. "And you've stayed...?"

He didn't say anything at first, but he then let his head collapse into his hands, elbows propped up on his thighs. His hair masked his face from her view, but she knew he had to be in a great deal of emotional pain. All knew that Percival meant a lot to him; Gwen knew how much Percival _truly_ meant to him.

"I just don't know what to do, Gwen," he said, and though his voice sounded sturdy the maid noticed how he quickly swallowed a lump in his throat. "Why can't I just _tell_ him?"

She gave a soft sigh, and took a seat on the bench beside him. Percival was rearranging the shields for the second time now. The first and second of the order were identical to the first time.

"I feel the same way about Elyan," she said, trying to look at her friend's face. He wouldn't look up. "He handles it all better than some of them, obviously, even still. But we can't, and you know that we can't."

The only sound in the room was the clinging of the shields as Percival took them from the rack again. If he noticed the other two presences in the room, he paid no mind to them. Finally Gwaine looked up, a tear or two about to break the tension keeping them in his eyes and fall to the ground. He turned his back to Gwen and hastily wiped at them before they could do so, and she pretended she never saw.

Gwaine stood up, gave one last, long gaze to Percival, then turned and held out a hand for Gwen. Once both were on their feet he explained. "I haven't seen Leon in while. Can you help me find him? Please?"

The phrasing of the request struck her. Usually he made things sound like he didn't need you to help, but he was asking because he was being polite and seeing if you wanted to. This was something more than that. This may as well have been the same as telling her he needed someone there. With a saddened smile Gwen nodded.

"Of course I can."

 

He wasn't sure if he was wishing for the usual bustle of the streets or for quiet, but as of now he had the prior. No one questioned him or tried to talk to him as he walked straight ahead with a purpose that didn't exist in his stride. He knew he ought to get back to the castle at some point, but right now... He didn't feel ready to do so yet. He observed the flowers that were being sold and took note of the avian readings happening just a little ways down the street, the noise washing over him and surrounding him in a sort of bubble.

A hint of a smile was beginning to form on his face as he watched little boys playing some sort of game on the side of the road. He passed a lady selling her goat, an old man basking in the sun, a mother with her young child who was laughing as the toddler wobbled hastily over to his father. It wasn't a bad day today.

Leon couldn't help but notice the beautiful things, the sad things, the dark and light... He just _noticed_. It all seemed peaceful, poetic almost. He chuckled momentarily to himself as he recalled the one time Merlin and Arthur had been "learning poetry" together. He never did learn what it was they _actually_ were doing...

As if spoken in devil's tongue, the knight felt an almost immediate heaviness fall upon him. He turned his head to the side; his smile faded away. Gaius' house seemed always darker now, without the youthful boy that once made it seem so bright... He debated going inside to check up on the old man left behind, but after a moment of thinking about having to emotionally support someone and he already felt tired. Reluctantly, he turned his course and started his slow walk back to the stone building in the centre of the kingdom. It would all hurt less eventually.

He hoped.

 

"Stop that." Elyan looked up, blinking a few times, at the man who had just given the command.

"Stop what?" he asked Geraint confusedly, his evening meal sat untouched on the table before them. Not too long ago Percival had joined them, but neither even tried to engage him in conversation. It was pointless to do.

"That," said Geraint, gesturing with his hand to how the other knight had his hands wrapped around his tankard. Elyan looked to the cup, seeing the way he held on so hard it could break if it weren't solid metal. He took a deep breath and lightened his grasp.

"Right," he huffed, pausing before taking his fingers away completely and placing them off the wooden surface and in his lap. "Sorry."

Geraint shrugged, taking a swig of his own mead and returning it. "No reason to be."

A slight sound of feet at the door made him turn from Elyan, looking to the source of the sound. It was only Gwaine, Leon in tow, and they silently joined the communion. At some point Lancelot came in as well, and not long after Geraint shooed the hovering servants out of the room and shut the door.

After the knights had all retreated to bed—aside from Leon, who had gone for a stroll, this time with Gwaine as a companion—the servants again returned. They began to clean, and after every few minutes a saddened sigh would escape someone's lips. Gwen creased her brow just a little as she cleared the table with the others, noticing a pattern that had arisen with her friends' eating habits in the past month or so: Empty tankards, hardly touched plates. This couldn't go on, not if _this_ was how they would do so.


	4. Midway Point

_The worst part of it all is I keep expecting to get over it, to be able to move on. Sometimes I can convince myself that I have gotten over it, that I'm okay now. I'm never right. I break down, I remember things I wish I hadn't, and I can't help but blame myself for my own stupidity._

* * *

 

6 Months After Merlin's Execution...

A loud crash sounded throughout the corridor, originating from the large, central wooden door. The guards held their post, without making a move. There was a few solid minutes of silence.

_Clinginginginging_

_..._

_Bwuh-dund_

_Fashh_

The guards yet still remained where they were. They were expecting this sort of clamour, had woken up keeping in mind the types of activity they should be ready for. These guards in particular had been stationed by the Prince's quarters since the morning meal, and this cycle had been in motion since.

As silence fell once again, the younger of the two closest to the Princes' bedroom looked over at his current partner, who had taken to leaning against the wall behind him. One could only stand with his back straight for so many hours.

"How many more things do you think he even has to break in there?" he asked, a strand of his reddish hair curling from beneath his helmet. The other man looked over to him- Ferdinand, wasn't that the kid's name?- and sighed, giving a shrug of sorts.

"I think he's breaking the pieces of what he's already broken now," he replied, and a few moments later more clatter could be heard. Both of them glanced to the door a moment, a deep level of sympathy showing in their faces.

"Do you think this is really about...? Ferdinand trailed off as the other guard began nodding his head. "That could do this to him?"

The older guard narrowed his eyes a little in thought at the boy, curious as to how long he'd been here exactly. If he'd been able to see the shenanigans that the Prince and servant boy always were up to, or the laughs they shared when no one of importance was watching them... This of course excluded the guards mostly, 'of importance'. The elder king's man always got to see them at play, their bond growing, and it pained him to have seen it be severed. "When you lose your best friend, an anniversary of their death can hurt quite a lot."

Silence fell again, but this time it was replaced by a different sound. A muffled, angry scream- Arthur shoving his face into a pillow or something of that type.

"I didn't know Merlin was his best friend," stated the ginger, furrowing his eyebrows as his head tipped a little to the side. His companion blinked slowly at him, then turned his head towards the wooden pane separating them from their future King. He often found he missed the lively blonde, even if he had never directly been addressed by him.  
"I don't think he did either."

For once, Ferdinand said something rather intelligent, voice soft. "It's because he was more than that."

The screaming turned into sobbing. The Prince did nothing to try to mute it this time.

 

"If you don't eat I am actually going to shove this down your throat," said Gwen sternly, with a very unamused look on her face. The chorus of groaning coming from the group of grown men could have been seen coming from children. A vast range of complaints fell from their lips as she served them each a roll, some pheasant, and an apple from the kitchens (for Gwaine, two apples).

"We aren't hungry," was one that came from either Elyan or Lancelot.

"It looks like shite!" That one was unmistakably Geraint.

"You're bribing me with fruit?" Gwaine at least seemed slightly amused.

There was silence from the end of the table farthest from the door. That was where Percival sat.

"Shut up, all of you," Gwen said, glaring at them each in turn. "Just eat your food, would you? I _know_ you aren't hungry, you never are."

The grumbling continued, but at least they had taken up utensils and were picking at the entree. She was pretty sure Elyan was cutting his meal into small bites to make it look like he was eating more than he actually was, but a little was better than none at all.

"I want none of it," said Geraint from his place beside her brother, shoving his chair back and proceeding to storm out of the dining room and off into the castle. Percival followed suit about five or so minutes later, but without the dramatic statement or chair legs scraping the stone floor. The servant girl was at least happy to see that he'd taken a bread roll and the apple along with him. Silence fell upon the room as the large man's footfalls faded into the halls.

"Can you believe it's been six months?" asked Gwaine quietly, stabbing into one of his own apples with a knife and holding it up, investigating it as if he'd never before seen one.

"Hardly," replied Lancelot, putting a small portion of the meat into his mouth. Gwen looked down at the tray in her hands, distracting herself with the decorative berries on the corner. Six months was a very long time...

"I should check on Arthur," said Elyan suddenly, getting up from his chair and exiting (Gwen suspected it was much due to the new conversation, as her brother wasn't very good at talking about things without breaking down). The girl shut the door after he had vanished from sight— So it was the three of them alone.

"What should we do?" she asked as she crossed, placing down her silver platter and taking a seat where Percival had been at the head of the table.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot inquired, tilting his head slightly at her.

"Well we can't leave it like this forever!" she said, narrowing her eyes over at him. A loud crunch sounded in the enclosed space out of nowhere; they turned their heads slowly over to Gwaine. He gazed back at them, then quickly chewed and swallowed what was in his mouth, placing the fruit upside down on the table with the knife sticking from the bottom.

"Sorry, um..." He cleared his throat. "She is right, though. Our brothers aren't doing any better and Arthur hasn't stopped howling since he woke up this morning."

"What are we supposed to do?" the other knight asked sadly, which made his friend rather angry.

"Did you actually think that this was going to be a permanent situation?"

"Of course not," the shorter-haired man snapped in reply, seemingly offended by the accusation.

"Lancelot, they're all falling apart," Gwaine said with an urgency to his tone, staring straight at his conversation partner.

"I know—"

"Geraint is in a permanent murderous state, Elyan is a mess, I haven't even _seen_ Leon today, and Percy's..." He added to his sentence by gesturing tiredly towards the place where all the listed individuals had left prior to this discussion, staring off longingly in the same direction when the last name was spoken. There was a decent span of stillness.

"He's fallen silent," Lancelot finished for him, looking at his lap. "I know."

"Then why can't we do anything?" The other knight glanced at Gwaine with a look he'd never before seen in the bold man's features; defeat.

"We have something more important to deal with right now," he gave as an explanation. Gwaine responded with a huff of laughter, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

"What possibly coul—?"

"Uther's hosting a melee," Gwen interrupted, a cold look to her eyes at the idea. Gwaine stopped, looked at her, and the bitter smile faded right from his lips.

"Are... You're serious? He believes Arthur's in a sane enough mental state for that?" he said, his eyes large with worry and with anger towards the King.

"Haven't a clue." Lancelot shook his head to himself, biting his lip slightly. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, twisting a strand of hair around his finger and pulling at it gently, presumably to keep himself calm and focused. "I think perhaps he's trying to cheer Arthur up."

"Uther's a fool," Gwaine growled, to which Gwen glared back in a way that warned him to keep his voice down. He didn't care to heed that. "No wonder this kingdom's such a damn _mess_!"

"Gwaine!" Lancelot stared back at his friend with a hint of anger in his eyes. The other knight took a deep breath, then abruptly stood up, turning to exit the room. "What are you doing?"

"Going to find Percival. We'll need help," he replied gruffly before heading off, presumably to the armoury. Lancelot sighed heavily, shaking his head and rubbing a hand over his worn face.

"Suppose I'll find Geraint," he mumbled, then to the girl at the front of the room. "Find Elyan?"

"And Leon?" Gwen asked, standing up as he did. He shrugged tiredly, leading out of their makeshift dining hall.

"I'm not even sure if he's in the kingdom, if I'm honest."

 

He was, of course. In the kingdom. He was just in a strange part of it, deep in the woods between the centre of Camelot and a nearby town within it. He had no intentions of going into the town, because if he did he knew that the burden of telling Merlin's mother of his fate would lie with him. Gaius had promised to send word but he'd yet to do it, and truly it was a dwindling belief that he ever would.

He instead decided to observe the trees and birds singing around him. They did little to distract his wandering mind, but little was more relief than he'd gotten in a while. But then he was drawing his sword before he could even fully comprehend why, pointing it towards something. It took a moment for him to understand that he'd done it on reflex; there was something there, just in the brush. He tried to see exactly what, but to no avail; the leaves were too thick. He approached, sword guiding him on, slowly parting the branches and leaves.

By the time he was through, whatever had been there was gone. Though there had most definitely been something, or rather someone. There was a fire, just put out, and a small pile of fruits that the person must have abandon. It was funny, he noticed, how they were arranged. Red and yellow berries put in rows, like a banner you might see in Camelot. As if whoever had put them there wished to see a real banner, in all its gold and crimson glory...


	5. The End of Motivation

_I wonder sometimes if he even knew my feelings about him. As much grief as I always gave him he means so much to me, and there is no one in this world I would be more proud to call my friend. As I've said before it would be an honour to die beside him. But this... This wasn't what I meant by it._

* * *

 

Day of the tournament...

"This isn't quite what we expected..." Lancelot muttered. The knights had all devised a plan to protect and save their Prince during this event. This, of course, left them utterly unprepared when it seemed it would be the competitors that would need saving.

"Which one is that? The fourth?" asked Geraint as he wiped a hand across his forehead. They all watched on in awe like the rest of the spectators as some men of the King dragged the unconscious knight off of the field, leaving only Arthur. The heir, usually calm and dignified when under public watch, resembled an enraged bull. His shoulders were wound tight, breaths heavy enough to cause them to rise and fall, and his face showed nothing but anger.

"Fifth," Leon corrected him, frowning at the scene.

"We have to make this end," Elyan stated, though the crowd was cheering so loudly that he went unheard.

"We have to get this to end!" Gwaine shouted above the clamour, to which the other knights nodded their enthusiastic support. Elyan rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath but he did the same.

"How do we do that?" Geraint asked, glancing over as another man stepped out into the field with their Prince. At this rate this would end with someone's unfortunate death. And it wouldn't be Arthur's.

"I... don't know," Gwaine admitted with a slight frown, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Let's... just put something into action, we'll figure out what we're doing as we do it."

"That sounds like an awful idea," Elyan said, but even so he was beginning to walk after Lancelot, who was going somewhere.

"Worked for us last time, didn't it?" Gwaine retorted, glancing sideways at Arthur before returning his gaze to his friend.

"I don't know..." Elyan said quietly, flickering his eyes to the Prince, then looking at something just over Gwaine's shoulder. His focus returned to his fellow night with a kind of sadness in them, one he wasn't quite understanding the cause of right now. "Did it?"

Gwaine furrowed his eyebrows as Elyan clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing gently before turning and following the other three knights. Gwaine watched on for a second, but then looked behind him to see where the other man had been looking. He immediately felt his heart skip a beat, and his throat tightened, blood feeling suddenly thick in his veins. He cleared his throat, reaching out. "Percival..."

He flinched away from his touch, but didn't show any other sign of knowing his friend was there. Swallowing harshly, Gwaine gave a nod and retracted his hand, balling it at his side. "We're, um, going to do something now."

Another long pause ensued, until Percival suddenly skirted around him and walked off in the direction the others had went in. For a bit of time Gwaine simply felt too paralysed to move. After he felt like he could breathe properly again, he followed suit, eyes cast towards the ground. _Did_ it work, if these were the consequences...?

 

"I say we postpone the rest of the competition until tomorrow." They were blessed that Gwen had gotten Morgana to assist them.

"What for, my girl?" Uther chuckled, holding out his arms with a goblet in hand. Everyone was currently gathered in the grand hall, enjoying drinks and assorted entrees for their lunch. A grander feast would be held after the tournament had drawn to a close tonight. Leon, Elyan and Gwaine stood nearby, listening in without letting on that they were doing so. "Arthur's doing better than I could have imagined!"

"Arthur has almost killed several people today, milord," Morgana argued, her bright eyes narrowed upon the King. To this Uther frowned, dropping his arms and tilting his head at her.

"So is the danger of entering a melee," he said slowly, as if uncertain of himself.

"I doubt the fellow kingdoms gathered here would take kindly to the death of their knights and princes," she responded, shaking her head slightly with a delicate sigh. "Please, Arthur needs time to rest before he's put back into the arena."

The King took a long drink from his chalice, eyebrows drawn down on his forehead. When he stood tall again, he shook his head, handing his cup off to a servant. "No. Arthur will finish the melee, no killings involved."

"But—" Morgana tried to protest, face morphed into a look of horror. The knights exchanged glances before hurrying off in the most discreet way they could manage.

"He can _rest_ tomorrow," Uther said, smiling at his ward, patting her shoulders. He gave her a nod before walking off into the crowd, probably to find other rulers and people of importance. Morgana watched after him with her mouth hanging open. Gwen was at her side moments later, looking at where the King had just disappeared.

"Don't worry, my lady. They have a plan," she assured the girl, hoping with her whole that they actually did.

And, by luck, they did for once.

"The tournament is still on," Elyan announced to Lancelot and Geraint as he came into Arthur's tent. Lancelot, dressed in Arthur's armour, gave a nod.

"Well, today I fight. What of Arthur?" he asked, allowing Geraint to assist in putting on his breast plate.

"I think the other three will have no problem."

 

They didn't have a problem, but that wasn't a positive thing. In fact, it was the most worrying thing that could possibly have happened.

"Alright." Arthur shrugged, turning and walking towards his quarters. After exchanging a look with Gwaine, Leon went after him, confusion written across his face.

"You agree? Just like that?" he asked dubiously, trying to keep with the Prince's strangely quick strides.

"Just like that," he agreed with a nod of his head, turning the corner sharply. The knight continued to follow along.

"You don't care about the tournament?" Leon persisted, putting a hand on Arthur's shoulder to stop him as they arrived at his bedroom. The blonde stopped and turned around, looking up at his friend with an emotion that was too far from happiness, but not close enough to sadness.

"I don't care about the tournament," he said slowly, then flashed a brief smile. He sighed, politely brushing away his friend's hand before turning his back. But Leon still caught the last words he said before closing his door. "I don't care anymore."

It was easy to hear in his voice, and to see in the slouch of his shoulders. He wasn't just talking about the tournament. There was an implied 'about anything' after the word 'care', and, to at least Leon, that was terrifying.

In passing months Arthur's words would ring more in their heads. He wouldn't compete, wouldn't speak to those visiting from other kingdoms, would abstain from meals. After three months he would stop training with the knights.

After four, the knights realised he was avoiding them.

 

10 months after Merlin's execution...

"So that's it..." Morgana whispered, sat on the edge of her bed with Gwen on one side of her, and an exhausted Leon on the other. "He really has lost it."

"Well, I don't know if 'lost it' is really the proper term," Gwaine said optimistically. Everyone else stared at him, until his smile completely fell away and his true, worn-down state showed through. "Just... losing it."

"We have to do something," Lancelot said quietly.

"Then why don't we? We've been saying it for months and yet we never do," Gwen hissed over at him.

"I bet if Merlin were here he would know..." Morgana said, biting her lip. Gwaine narrowed his eyes at that, looking towards the knight stood across from him. Lancelot stared back, the both of them holding eye contact for several seconds before returning to the real world.

"He would," Gwen agreed solemnly, glancing between them both.

"Agreed," Elyan said, looking towards the floor.

"Hear," muttered Geraint and Leon as well, and Lancelot hummed in affirmation. Percival said nothing. Because Percival never said anything at all.

 

11 months and 3 weeks after Merlin's execution...

At an ungoly hour of the morning, Gwaine found himself outside the barracks, saddling his horse. He knew that he would be woken to come and do this, but he still wasn't in the happiest mood about it. Especially since he'd hardly slept in the past few weeks.

"It took us longer to find you than we would have liked," Gwen said as she assisted him, her hair tucked up in a wrap.

"My apologies," Gwaine replied tiredly, fastening the straps. "I was just making sure that everyone was alright. That Leon hadn't wandered, and... all that."

Silence fell over them for a while. "You were with Percy."

He didn't reply, just took his bag and put it on his horse. It wasn't until he was putting on his coat that he got irriatated with her staring and finally spoke up. "He doesn't sleep anymore, Gwen. He hardly eats, he doesn't talk, he—"

He broke off in a sigh, pressing his fingers against his temples and closing his eyes. He felt the maid's gentle hand on his arm before he heard her. "It's alright. I'll take care of him while you're gone."

He swallowed, but nodded, looking over his shoulder to look back at the place in the castle from which he'd come. He stared, then turned back around, smiling weakly as he ran a hand through his hair. "Thank you."

Gwen nodded, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. He grinned just a little more for her before turning around to seek out his companion. He found him putting the last of his supplies in his satchel. Gwaine leaned against a wall, watching him, head lolled against the wood.

"I'm ready," Lancelot chuckled, looking up at him. "Your impatience is legendary."

"I don't see how you're not impatient," Gwaine teased, peeling himself off the wall with a grunt before going to his horse. With a nod at his fellow knight they both mounted their horses, and Gwaine smiled at Gwen. "You'll know where to go when it's time?"

She dipped her head down. "I'll know."

She would, Gwaine knew. So he and Lancelot set out, off into the woods without so much as a question from everyone else in the kingdom. They'd made it a good distance down their regular hunting trail before they slowed to a moderate pace, nothing but light-tinted leaves around them, when Lancelot began laughing. Gwaine raised his eyebrow, but smiled, teeth and all for the first time in almost a year.

"What?" he asked, a chuckle in his voice.

"I can't believe it," Lancelot breathed out, looking over at him with eyes as bright as stars, if not brighter. "After all this time, after all this..."

Gwaine had to laugh a little as well, in a relieved sort of way, facing the path ahead rather than his friend. "Yes... But you know it won't be as normal again. With Uther still being King..."

"Who cares?" Gwaine nearly fell off his horse; who cares? Was he really talking to Lancelot right now? "I'd rather keep a secret from Uther than from Arthur any day."

Gwaine sighed, a fond grin on his face as he listened to the sound of horseshoes on the ground. "You've been a little more worried than you've let us believe, haven't you?"

Lancelot smirked, looking over at him a moment before returning to the roads they were travelling. Suddenly he took off, horse leaping over logs and rocks, and Gwaine was stunned for only a second before he followed suit, laughing along with the other knight. "I've waited this long, I won't another second!"

When they returned to Camelot four days later absolutely beaming, no one could even guess what had them in such high spirits. Well, aside from Gwen. Gwen knew, and she couldn't stop singing children's rhymes for the rest of the day.

Arthur caught her doing so just past supper, while she was taking Morgana's laundry down to clean it. He paused and listened to her just a moment;

 _"And if you meet me, friend,_  
At the place with all the trees,  
We'll build a castle of twigs and leaves and seeds—  
There will be a tiny bridge,  
Over a tiny moat,  
And we can call it whatever we want."

He shook it off, turning and going back to his chambers. He didn't care to hear singing. He didn't care to talk to Gwen either. Actually, all he really cared to do was sleep. So he did, for the next day and a half. He didn't care to get out of bed. He just... didn't.


	6. Fall

_I can't leave him all alone anymore. I've done so for too long already, and I'll be damned if he isn't as broken about it as I am. I have to get back to him, I need to. And soon, very soon, I will._

* * *

A year after Merlin's execution...

"A year." All the knights looked to Leon, conversations of recent happenings and of the supposed oncoming storm abruptly ended, though he didn't return their gazes. His eyes were on his sword, on the glimmer the reflected moonlight created when he turned it slightly from one way to another. They remained silent, waited for him to further explain the significance of "a year". But he did no such thing. Instead, he arose from the bench, replaced his weapon in its proper place in the armoury, and exited the small structure, ignoring Lancelot as the other knight spoke his name.

"Is he alright?" asked Geraint, watching his silhouette against the light of the stars as he faded into the scenery of the kingdom.

"Probably not," responded Elyan, resting his elbows on the table and pressing his lips into his clasped hands. Geraint sighed, turning back in his seat with a doleful expression.

"So it _is_ today, then," he said wistfully.

"Indeed so," Lancelot agreed from his position against the wall, eyes cast down at the dirt below his boots.

"And is anyone with Arthur?" asked Elyan with worry in his tone, placing his chin atop his hands as to be heard as he spoke. Gwaine, who thus far had stood beside Percival silently, was the one to answer him.

"Someone is on their way as we speak," he said, though there was something off about the youthfully spirited knight. He looked delighted (even if he _was_ trying to hide it by forcing his lips into a thin line), which was a strange emotion to be feeling on the one year anniversary of your close friend's execution...

"Elyan, fetch Leon," requested Lancelot, and suddenly he looked quite pleased himself. He was even smiling!

"What is happening?" Elyan demanded. The whole situation seemed dubious to him.

"Do as I've asked, and when you return we'll explain," Lancelot said in response.

"We?" inquired Percival, habitually grabbing lightly for the wrist of the person beside him in the case that he attempted to flee from him before telling. His eyes shifted from man to man suspiciously, but Gwaine seemed to have forgotten what the topic of his happiness even was anymore. He was staring up at Percival in awe and relief, wondering momentarily if he'd only imagined his voice. Before anyone could respond to his questioning, or just respond at all, returned a pale Leon, confusion obvious in his features.

"Perhaps I'm going crazy," he said immediately, breath slightly heavy from running.

"Why...?" prompted Geraint, narrowing his eyes.

"I swear I just saw him," finished Leon, eyes wild as he stared ahead into the group, but not at anyone in particular.

"Who?" Elyan furrowed his brow in concern. "Merlin? Leon, you know as well as I that seeing him is—"

"Completely possible," cut in Gwaine, smiling more widely than he had all year. The grasp Percival held on his wrist went from fingers just barely grazing his flesh to a death grip, but he paid no mind; he was happy to feel the other knight there, happy that he had rejoined their world again. Confusion flowed through the air and became overwhelming from everyone else.

"What game are you lot playing at?" Percival asked accusingly, noticing that both his captive and Lancelot seemed perfectly at ease.

"A year," said Gwaine, giving a nod in Leon's direction, "is too long for Arthur to be without his servant. Agreed?"

"Without his _friend_ ," said Elyan, almost aggressively, as he sat, nearly glaring at the questioner.

"Hear," nodded Leon in reply, leaning in the doorway.

"A day was too long," Geraint pointed out. There were mutters of agreement, but before anyone could go on a new member joined their little gathering.

"Brother and brothers of his," came the familiar voice of Guinevere, who appeared from the door between where Lancelot and Gwaine were stationed as if on cue. She wore a smile much bigger than one of happiness; this was pure joy, delight, excitement. This threw the four knights who had no involvement in whatever was happening off completely. Gwen was the last person—alongside Gaius and Arthur—they would expect to be happy today. With her left hand she held onto something—no, some _one_ —but the figure was too cloaked in shadow to make out properly. "This is the idiot that's supposed to be keeping our Prince company. He's already gotten lost! It hasn't been long enough to forget the way to the castle, has it?"

Though they could hardly see his face, the knights knew that voice, knew the hint of humour hidden in it. It was one that they'd heard in dreams, in nightmares and in memories. The smiling that had been with only two of the men now infected them all, some—Leon—with a hint of tears: "Well if I'm _that_ much of a burden I suppose I'll go back to being dead!"

  
Arthur was on the balcony. Not on the floor of the balcony or leaned in the door frame, on it, out on the wall. He didn't even remember climbing up, didn't know why he was there. One whole year... That was all he'd been thinking all day long. One year, one year, and—

Ah, right. Some thought in the back of his mind had joined the choir of others at some point in the night, and told him, "Go ahead, get up there, Arthur. Don't be afraid. What can you lose? Doesn't the view make you just want to, oh, I don't know... _jump_?"

The Prince sighed. He didn't know _what_ he wanted anymore. Did he want to jump? Did he want to live on and become King? Did he want to sit there and scream until his voice was gone? Well, the last he knew he did want to do, but as for the rest of it he wasn't sure.

But... Maybe he _did_ want to jump...  
His eyes drifted downward until he was looking below his toes, to the ground far, far beneath him. Though there wasn't enough light for him to see the dirt and stone, from the starlight he could catch a small glister off of a puddle. He imagined, for a brief moment, that the puddle were made of blood. _His_ blood. A chill went up his spine and brought goosebumps to his skin. No, no he didn't want to jump.

A tiny breeze made the puddle ripple and the light was disrupted. His mind shifted; if the wind were just the slightest bit stronger, he'd fall right off this little wall, plummet down, down... Maybe he did want to jump.

"What're you doing up there, clotpole?" That voice wasn't going to get in his head this time. He screwed his eyes shut, held a hand down at his side in a sort of "stop" gesture.

"No, _no_. Not now," he said, voice scratchy and telling of the tears fighting against the inside of his eyelids. The voice was silent, and when it spoke again it was confused.

"Not now for what? Wh—?"

"You're not here, not really," the Prince snapped at the imaginary Merlin. Usually, that did the trick. Acknowledging that he wasn't real typically made him—

"Arthur... What are you talking about?" He... He was still here? He sounded concerned, worried, sad— No, that was wrong. He usually teased him, made him feel awful for letting him... die...?

The blonde looked back over his shoulder with wide eyes, careful to keep his balance, and his breathing ceased for a moment. He was there, standing with a smile on his face that was a cross of relief and fear. He was there, _here_ , right in front of Arthur's very eyes.

"You're alive?" he breathed out, unable to take his gaze away. Merlin—the real, actual, _living_ Merlin—nodded a few times, emotion taking him over. Arthur had been hallucinating that he was there...? He thought that he had known of the plan. What neither boy knew, of course, was that Gwaine and Lancelot had decided against the idea of telling Arthur. Merlin had told them he needed to know, but the knights knew that the knowledge would put them all at risk.

"Yes," said the servant, very simply, trying not to cry as he saw a few stray tears slip silently and unnoticed down his friend's face. He felt the wind ruffle his hair, and his anxiety spiked once more. "Arthur, please. Come down from there."

The Prince blinked a few times, as if he'd forgotten entirely where he was stood, and nodded. He turned around, prepared to leap back down to the flooring. The feared but expected scenario then played out; just as he started to get to safety a wind strong enough to rattle the trees swept over the castle. The dreaded storm had arrived at a horrible time.

With a shout he fell back, hands grabbing out for anything, something to hold onto. His fingers found Merlin's outstretched hand, and just before he fell over the edge he grasped onto him. But gravity already had him in its clutches, and he felt his friend's hand tighten on him desperately before his touch vanished all together, and all he saw was the distress on the servant's face. Down, down he went, the very same pain and anguish the Prince had shown in the Square now on the face of who on that day, one year ago, had been the victim.

Merlin called his name.


	7. Signed, Merlin.

_This is all my fault..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is the last part of A Twisted Tale, there's analternate ending here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7308676
> 
> It's much happier.


End file.
